9 - 11

I travel again the headlines Bold
The ads diminish
And towers of above gound cemetaries drained of its residence
And water still in the streets

The airport alive with other peoples concerns

And I see travelers, four
Evenly split life experienc and no experience

Their energy tense with hunger and fatigue

Food choices too great they split one elder taking one son

They return into view only one meal between the four
The energy more tense
The younger ones doing their best
To defend against the barage

And when the adults get home they will think - what a great vacation

I love you too

in some families it is real and palpable

the affirmation and commitment to the family

the honest reminder that no matter what,....  there is a place for you here
and you are in our hearts.

so I as the grandparent say "I love you" and you in return say " I love you too"

and sometimes the roles are reversed and it is I that says "I love you too"
my words to you are heart felt
sometimes with slight tear of emotion
And I hope you know it is real.

I hope you know it is not the "god bless you" to your sneeze
nor the "your welcome" to my "thank-you"

words so important should not  be a societal norm
should not be an automated response

but alas we are a society of rules and norms

and after my dad tells me I'm here only because he grunted in when he should have pulled out,
it is time to turn in for the night and he says "I love you" and I reply with the well rehearsed line "I love you too"

and on the way out the door to school, even though there was a 3:am, the parent says "I love you" and the dutiful child replies "Love you too"

after the lovers break up sex the well rehearsed lines;
"hmm l love you" she says
his reply, a tired with an almost bothersome tone "Love you too"
Insecurity of relationship almost forgotten.

And as the adopted child utters the reply
desperately trying to believe
believe the words coming out of their mouth
those magic words of "I love you too".

wanting to believe in their power
power of loving families
where through the anger and the chaos
through the disappointment and frustration
the day ends with "I love you too"
and it is real and palpable.

but the hollow, empty, lonely,
soul-shattering feelings of not being wanted so over-shadow the words

The words become dutiful and meaningless.

hand to hold

one turns left
the other turns right
and the sun sets for the last time.

it was said
we belong together
we will last forever

we believed what was said

we watched so many sunrises separated
but always watch the sunsets together, holding hands,
looking to each other

even when miles and time zones prevented us from touching,
through the ether we were together at the end of each day.

one career lead a path to the right
the other career leaned to the left
but we always met in the middle when the sun set

and the heat of the summer
and the cold of winter
brought burned houses
burst pipes
late night rescues
early morning emergencies
messes to clean
memories to recover
but then when the sun set we held hands

so many straws placed
broken bridges
houses divided
grinding axes
apple of our eyes,...
so many years of rebuilding,...
and through it all we looked to each other as the sun set.

near homelessness
lost loved ones
monkey on backs
weight of world
and the vows of sickness and health were never broken

kids to teenagers
teenagers to adults
adults to grandchildren
so many family gatherings
all ending with the sun setting while hand in hand.

to most we were the pillar of the family.
for commitment
for sanity
for forgiving
for never losing hope

and one sunset not too long ago one grandson said "I know you'll be together forever"

for within our strength
the kids and grand kids
and friends and acquaintances
all relied on the us

and I say yes
yes we are together forever but,
this
this, is my first sunset without a hand to hold.

Mona Lisa smile

I never thought
never thought it

I never thought I would be here now
that I would still,
 be,
 here.

I was the littlest one.
bounced from mom to mom, with one half of a dad

I never thought I would be here now.

So many years of self inflicted pain
so many homeless nights

So sure I was
sure that I was not,
not able to instill the chaos of my life into my very own offspring.

and yet I sit with my baby boy on my lap,
picture day, that day when people smile and share.
and pride is normal

but the photographer slow and camera not professional this pose will take a while.

my baby  boy on my lap we sit.
I am rigid, waiting,
like you see on TV when a camera from the 1800's is used, where the photographer instructs the subjects to sit still, and not breath, then he takes the lens cap off the bulky primitive camera, while reinforcing the command to hold very still.

30 seconds of rigidity

it takes so long to get those shots, but it should be worth the discomfort.

30 seconds of rigidity or was it an eternity of holding breath and pushing down emotions?

rigidity, hold breath and fake smile,
all the while this amazing little life smiles huge, eyes full and happy, like when he is well fed and wanting to play a game.

Just a little bit ago he was touching the tears streaming down my face. His magic trying to make them go away.

He is so innocent he has no idea that right now
 I am
rigid
body stiff
posed

a moment to be cherished but instead
like a steal girder rusted into place on an abandoned bridge my Mona Lisa smile appears.

a time that would normally
be soft
 be caring
be loving

is instead filled with
reservations
self-preservation
and feigned happiness
all the while the baby boy sits and smiles care free on his mothers lap,
on my lap.

Stoic
Still
Posed
Pretending to Love
this thing on my lap.

this thing on my lap that causes a revulsion in me as strong as seeing a person decapitated

this horrific scene is not because of the boy himself it is because of fantasy

it is my fantasy
my fantasy lived daily that caused this reality.

fantasy feels good and reality catches up with you

Both collide when my baby boy comes to visit with his adoptive mother.

My baby, which came from the fantasy of sterile loins
my baby which now lives with religious freaks,
freaks that fed my fantasy, and took my baby

He came out just a little bit addicted, he is not as bad as me, I don't see why they had to take him from me.

"I would have stopped once he was born........"

and so  I sit holding what is not mine, yet he is, mine.
His smile brightens the whole outdoors.

and my Mona Lisa smile, holds back my rage,
my fear
my disgust and anger and blame

and I can't wait to get him off my lap,

the visit has gone too long and I need to find a place to sleep tonight and a fix would be much appreciated.

reality sucks and fantasy is waiting.

so one last smile,
fake kiss and weak hug,

tears stream as I walk away
walk and then turn left,

glass pipe and a hot lighter
and I smile
smile
smile,..
like that one painting, man
man
you know,
you know, that, you know, lady sitting with that,  little smile, you know,
yeah, man
I smile,
smile like Mona Lisa.

coffee shop

and the man reads about health and fitness and success and wealth and family.
he is so learn-ed
he can advise
he does give advice both freely and when asked for
but in either case
the advice falls onto deaf ears of
Both
the listener
and the one talking.

Meanwhile
The ex-convict behind the counter sees the kids across the street in prom attire and comments "pretend dress up"
then with even more sarcasm "big night on the town, La -Dee-Dah" and continues with disdain in his voice "look at me, I'm all growed up in my rented suit and my too expensive dress" after a couple of long breaths he,...
he sees his life that has passed him by.  Life of troubles, lost opportunity, no time for the fairy tale of being a kid....
and he throws at me the words "this night aint worth a hill of beans,"
and then snarls with anger fueled by a lifetime of regrets "pretend dress up" emphasized with a harrumph!.

While I look I see the same kids all dressed up but I see the smiles that light up the night sky and steps so high they almost fly. And the words that rattle in my head are rebuttals to the ex-convicts verbal assault to the teenagers.

Meanwhile
the foursome, with two competing conversations
the two men, two women
one man reads a crossword dictionary out loud to one woman
and the other man occasionally gently plays a tune on his guitar
cross talk about subjects no one really cares about.
and the woman bored with hearing words from the dictionary, asks the guitarist to sing a song.


Meanwhile
The loner writing  his stories sits alone at a table


Meanwhile
as a woman and her four year old son walk away from the counter, he is holding some chocolate treat, she is holding the coffee for her and milk for him, looking for an empty table they see one next to the loner, she points,

the four year old puts the chocolate treat on the empty table, and then sits at the table with the loner writing his stories.


and the end of the day comes, a man riding a 20 yr old Raleigh.comes into the coffee shop.  The  the man most likely homeless, the bicycle worn - the years have been hard for both and they cling to each other as a reminder that at one time they were "top hat," the best there was, but that was too many years ago .  The man is there to ask the ex-con for a favor, for some food, for a special treat of fresh coffee,

The shop closes
The night time becomes the night life
and alcohol fuels the fun,
and at least one of the kids will lose their virginity, but all the boys hope to.
and the homeless man and his bicycle will find safe refuge in forgotten corner of the street.
the mom and son, will talk of manners and strangers
the learned man will read and learn some more.
the foursome will go their separate ways knowing they will meet up again soon.


and the loner will be alone.


and then the bakers will start baking
and the night will give way to the morning street sweeper
and the coffee shop will reopen

and he is never really home

His little girl says "Daddy, can I watch TV in your room with my friends if I promise to not go into your closet?"

she not knowing exactly what he does in there but knows that when he is is in there, he does not want to be bothered.

not knowing what the glass straws with black stains are
or the glass thing with dirty water
not knowing what causes the layer of dust and ash that is different from the normal dust in the house.

but she, so young, knows something in there needs to be hidden.

hidden,
not mentioned,
hidden,
not discussed,

like the time she and her daddy went to his friends house and she was told to stay in the house while they went into the garage to smoke, even though the night was crystal clear and one of those perfectly cool nights to be enjoyed before the heat of summer takes full hold.


like the time they went for a drive to one of his friends house, then another, than a third, never staying at each place for more than 30 minutes.

like the one dark night they went to one of his friends houses and the child needed to stay in the car and wait.

not knowing exactly what takes her daddy away, but she feels the loss
Strongly
feels the abandonment
feels the instability

she knows there is love, but the love has the price of chaos that she must bear.

and although she sees him three or four times a week he is never really home.

and you never come home

and the chaos became so overwhelming he did not now what to do.
so,
he,
created more chaos, hoping, praying that the latest crisis could overshadow the others
but the hardships conspire,
and each took its turn,
pounding
stepping on his chest
crushing his will
and now hopelessness so great
he sees only hopelessness

and he never comes home.

The stereotypes, creep in from the back of his head to blind him to the truth and make him think that
a man is supposed to be in control
a man is supposed to provide 100%
a man is supposed to do it alone
a man is not supposed to share his feelings
a man is not supposed to show weakness

with none of the stereotypes achievable
none of them fitting reality
his feelings of chaos now compete with feeling feeble and weak

and then one more piece of chaos arrives in the mail
he feels less than
less than
less than a man
less than a human
less than scum

and he never comes home.

and then the comparisons start,
he looks and sees others
the ones skinnier
the ones with a new truck
the ones with a better relationship
the ones with more money
the ones that spend time with their family
the ones that take time off work
the ones that are less addicted
the ones that are happier

happiness was lost over five years ago and nothing tried has been able to  replace it.
looking for an exact replacement for a work of fine art destroyed in a fire is impossible, and yet he still looks.
disappointed at each effort, and now he never comes home.

and he thinks the kids growing up so fast don't want him.

he does not see that they need him,
they desperately need him
they need that man that played catch
the man that came home
the man that had true friends
the man that shares his life
the man that forces a hug and kiss onto a boy too old for such things

and most important they need to hear his soothing voice as he looks at them with his crystal clear eyes and says to them "I love you"

and he never comes home.

like a battle to take a hill in some war, kids growing causes casualties and death.
dead are the days of the kids just waiting around for him
dead are the days of tickle sessions
dead are the days of carrying their small bodies up the stairs after they have fallen asleep on the couch.
dead are the days of them wanting him to be their whole life.

but like the battle for the hill has rewards, so do the growing children.

and he never comes home to see the rewards.


so steeped in his depression
so buried by his chaos
so much pressure from bullshit stereotypes
so much added ever week, every month
so alone

he does not see
see the kids so patiently waiting for their dad to come home
see the adults who have totally disrupted their lives for him
see the friends that are trying to hold on.

all waiting for him to come home.

What is it?

And to split into pieces
work as a team to divide
manageable now
what was insurmountable now dinner
-
-
-
--- eating an elephant ---



Slight fold
then tear strait
large is now small
-
-
-
--- rip paper ---



upper and lower
sometimes bulging from top encroaches onto bottom
discomfort from the obvious split
-
-
-
--- a belt too tight ---



breath shallow
mind racing
chest tight
unknown future
much fear
-
-
-
--- consequence ---




Anticipate joy
fear of discovery
on edge of safety
mind racing
some fear
some excitement
story to tell
-
-
-
--- a teenage late night ---



glancing look turns to partial stare
partial stare becomes locked gaze
turned body to hide the obvious
try's not to be obvious
but can't break away from the stare
saddened when family sits far away out of site
---  _________________  ---

food court table at the old mall

gross and sticky late in the day

a film so grimy
a table so  small,
small and at a mall
a mall that is two generations past its prime

hundreds of drips of spit and drool.
mixed with the remnants of spilled soda
blood dripping from fresh teenage wounds inflicted by dare, control, or just plain picking off a scab

and the occasional puss from open wounds completes the experience of a food court table at the old mall

Wandering

and the heat of the day hangs in the air long after the sun sets

the wanderer seeking meaning finds none
he was told of a place that may help, but the place was devoid of emotion

a meaningless life is a life with no meaning

Meaning is purpose

so his life is without purpose
no purpose, like a gall bladder or tonsils should just be cut out.

a life cut out is like paper
like people cut out of paper

paper people

nothing to stand for
no ability to,.. even if the desire is there

the old ways no longer effective  add to the flimsy paper life created

even the person on top of a house of cards is better for he has support
support to stand on

until the stiff breeze comes.

I, am only thin paper not even able to stand.

bio

The magnificent stare that pinned me to wanting more
the words that felt so real and Heart-felt
the delicate touch down my back that means trust
the caress,
that delicate gentle touching,  tracing,... exploring up and down my torso, so delicately with your hand, felt electrifying.

Would that I could see you again..

but then you knew it  was not meant to be, 

to get the passion again I would do it all again
losing my friends
lying to my family
struggling through the hard times and all the chaos

just to get back to
loving times
passionate times,

but you knew that our relationship would end, 

you knew that soon I would think that,..

that,..

that,..

The sight of you is,
is ,..
is betrayal

Your exterior is as pristine as a Llandro figurine
perfect
smooth
beautiful to look at
Carefully glazed
Glazed to smooth flawless perfection

but appearance is all that you are

inside you are ugly
Ugly like the sight of  dead person
dead partially burned to death,
dead with some skin still hanging
dead with raw meat exposed like dog ran over by a car and ripped into two pieces.

inside you are stench
the smell of a taxi where the cabbie working all night in the heat with no air conditioner
the putrid stench of sweat mixed with tobacco, alcohol and bodily fluids, left by a multitude of lovers.


Would that I could see you again,
to have that loving touch
your perfect body.

would that I could see you again

see you again, to try to make you see the pain you cause
see you again, to feel my knees go weak
see you again
see you again

I know you will never change
would that I could see you again

I know you have destroyed so many before me
would that I could see you again

I know how to stop you
If  I could see you again

see you again
so I could pin you down

pin you down and tattoo warnings across that perfectly unblemished skin,

words like "toxic" on your hands so delicate.

words of "heartless" across your chest so perfect.

words of "emotionless" across your stomach so flat and smooth

words of "selfish prick" across your waistline where your perfectly fitting jeans fills me with lust.

and the last tattoo would be would be on  the most that most private, of privates, the part that betrayed me the most

it

it would be tattooed pitch black swirls on a background of yellow

with the words

word of

words of "Bio Hazzard" across your _______

toDad fromEthan

Dad

Thank you for coming back to me

It was never about the money or the house or the car, It was always you, and the way you make me smile and laugh and feel.

And its about how you think your phone is so much better than mine, funny how with my phone I don’t need a restore partition.

Its not about the presents I’m going to get, it’s the way you shared with me how far down your pants used to sag.

You were there for me, for my first heartbreak, you may think I wasn’t really listening, but after talking to you I felt better.

You many times act more like a kid than I do, sometimes you act like a parent, and you are always like my best friend.

Well I just wanted to say thank you for being here in my life.

Note to Ethan's dad from Ethan commissioned by ‘perception’ for Christmas 2012

Tobasco Black and White

As if I was here just to do this

hopelessness so deep
darkness so pure
I,
A shadow that sees no light.

Light, my enemy that illuminates the despair in every corner of my life

Life, my nemesis that causes the agony, pain and the darkness

Darkness, my mentor that intensifies and hides the emotions,

emotions-they say are the spice and flavor to life
flavor and spice to enjoy
the sweet and spicy-hot

yet I feel only the burning pain

like an ounce of Tobasco in each eye
Agony, 
torture, 
no escape from the suffering

eyes watering
gallons of tears fall trying to ease my misery, 
but there is not enough water in the Colorado River
to flush out my pain
wash away my loneliness
or erode the tiniest bit off my Thick Layer of Despair.

From sheer and  utter exhaustion finally my tears stop,  
and i awake to the television

... And the TV shows lions killing a zebra,
Momentary violence
a little struggle
then as life bleeds out of the black and white animal,..
.. Calmness washes over the agony,
and I see the Zebra smile.


his smile flashes to me an awareness I have never felt before and at that moment it becomes crystal clear that

life is not Gray and colorless
Life is not many different flavors of sweet and spice

Life is simple
simple like salt and pepper.

Black and white with a little bit of red,

and like the wild dogs of africa know their place at the feast of the dead zebra. I too know my place and now completely understand.

Agony is black
pain is black
my life is black

There is no white and my colorful crimson is trapped deep inside.

I embrace the black

and I,
I decide
decide to give in to the black and let my crimson out.

momentary violence
a little struggle
crimson red flows down the drain

my body turn white
calmness washes over my agony
and I smile my last smile

Friendly fire

and to be able to say
I was there
and I saw
and I felt
and I, made a difference
after the fact

is far more important than the momentary pleasure of my selfishness at your expense

yet it is the moment I live in

and somehow I forget the future was coming

and the guilt of the past
And the fear of the future
became so overwhelming

There was nothing else to do but shoot myself after the rampage was over.

new year first post

and life is
and stress becomes important
and family
and work

and my words have left,...
and my emotions with no where to go look
look for my monster

my monster, my savior during these times.
but then there is
life
and stress
and family

so even my monster can not thrive.

the words trapped
the body shuts down

and I try
and I work
and I family
and I stress

but I don't write!

so my monster wants to live and wants to save me,

but there is no time
no hope

only cycle
work, family, stress
family, stress, work
stress, work, family


so debilitating there is no room for
no room for words
no room for monsters
no room for sharing feelings.

no feelings is where my monster thrives
and yet it has only air to breath, but no food to eat.

and the family needs food
and the work needs my intellect
and the stress needs nothing.

nothing is what I have written in too long.

I long for my words or my monsters to save me.

I hope my words come back,

I miss them terribly so,

This must be what a mom felt in the 1800's when her 15 yr old boy went west to make his fortune.
She saw innocence and love and hope and joy, ride out with the sunset, never knowing really if she would ever see him again.